Sections in italics are taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter 4, “A Shortcut to Mushrooms”

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CHAPTER 23

Merry and Fatty made their way back to Crickhollow immediately after first breakfast in order to put the finishing touches on the little house.

“How soon do you think they will arrive?” asked Fatty, as he arranged books in the shelves of the study. This task was taking him rather longer than it should have, as he kept pausing to read them.

Merry paused in his task of putting some of Frodo’s spare pipes in Drogo’s pipe table. He had placed it, and Primula’s rocking chair next to the study fireplace.

“I think we should start keeping an eye out for them around luncheon, although it could be somewhat later.”

As luncheon time neared, Fatty prepared the meal, and Merry walked down the lane to the road to keep an eye out. After a while, he went back to report no sign of the walking party. He and Fatty ate a quiet lunch; he hadn’t much appetite. There were a lot of leftovers.

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Pippin was hot, scratched, dirty, sore and tired. Although they had been right to get off the road--they had barely begun when they saw one of those Black Riders--this particular short cut was a disaster. If only Merry had been here; he knew the land hereabouts a bit better than…wait a moment:

“Why this is the Stock-brook!” said Pippin. “If we are going to try and get back on course, we must cross at once and bear right.”

Having a general idea of where they were cheered Pippin up a bit, but soon it started to rain. This dampened them, their spirits and the conversation. What was worse, Pippin soon realized they were off course again. He told Frodo this.

Frodo shook his head. “It is no good our starting to go in zig-zags. That won’t mend matters. Let us keep on as we are going! I am not sure that I want to come out into the open yet.”

After a while the rain lessened. They found a spot fairly dry and sheltered to take their lunch. They found that the Elves had filled their bottles with a clear drink, pale golden in colour: it had the scent of a honey made of many flowers and was wonderfully refreshing. Very soon they were laughing, and snapping their fingers at rain, and at Black Riders. The last few miles, they felt, would soon be behind them.

Pippin began to feel pleasantly tipsy. Elves were wonderful creatures who made wonderful things to drink. Pippin started to hum one of his favorite drinking songs. Pretty soon, Sam joined in and they began to sing:

“Ho! Ho! Ho! to the bottle I go….”

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When luncheon had come and gone, with no sign of the walkers, Merry and Fatty decided to take their ease for a while, as the house was as ready as they could make it. Fatty helped himself to one of the books. Merry curled up in the rocking chair with a coverlet and dozed. He had slept badly the night before.

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Pippin had been more frightened than he could possibly admit when their after luncheon rest had been interrupted by that strange call. He had much hoped Frodo would shrug it off as a bird--but no, it was clear that Frodo was just as frightened as he. This was a sobering thought. He wished Gandalf was with them, or maybe some of those Elves they had met last night. Wide-eyed he risked a look at Sam, who gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

Then they had finally come out of the woods, only to realize they had gone out of their way, and were some miles to the south of Bucklebury Ferry.

Pippin’s joy at placing where they were--on old Maggot’s property--was not matched by Frodo. When his cousin had explained his alarm, Pippin refrained from laughing. He and Merry had never been caught on their own mushroom raiding expeditions, though they had come close the last time, when he had been seventeen and Merry twenty-five. But since Merry had reached his majority, Saradoc had often sent his son there on errands, and Pippin had sometimes gone along.

Out loud, he merely said “Well, it’s time you made it up. Especially if you are coming back to live in Buckland. Old Maggot is really a stout fellow--if you leave his mushrooms alone. Let’s get into the lane and then we shan’t be trespassing. If we meet him, I’ll do the talking. He is a friend of Merry’s and I used to come here with him a good deal at one time.”

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Fatty closed the book, a far away look in his eyes. He had been reading of the downfall of Westernesse, of Númenor. How differently Elves and Men and Hobbits saw death. To the Elves, it seemed a gift, to escape from weariness and all the sad changes of the world. To Men, it seemed a curse, to be thrust from the world into an unknown fate. To Hobbits, it was simply the way things are: every living thing is born and then dies sooner or later--even Elves, he guessed, when the world finally ended. Life here and now was more important than what might or might not happen when one died. But then Hobbits are a very practical race. He shook his head, and glanced up at the clock on the mantle. It was a quarter after three.

“Merry!” he said sharply.

Merry stopped his gentle snoring and sat upright, instantly awake. “What’s the matter, Fatty?”

“Look at the time!”

Merry glanced at the clock, and felt a twinge of alarm. Surely they should have been here by now! Even allowing for a late start, or dawdling a bit over an ale along the way, they should have been here. Aloud, he said “I think they should have been here by now, but maybe they have stopped too long at one of the inns or something. It was raining this morning.” He looked at the clock again. “Yes, maybe it was the rain has delayed them. We’ll give it a bit more time.”

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Farmer Maggot was a good deal agitated. Strange doings in the Shire, to be sure, and stranger folk. He felt unsettled in his mind, as if something dire was afoot. He tried to put out of his mind the fear he had felt when that rider, all clad and cloaked in black, with his hood pulled down to conceal his face, had come to him, questioning him about “Baggins” and offering him money for information. It wasn’t right.

Suddenly, the dogs set up a clamor. Maybe that fellow had come back! Now old Maggot felt more angry than afraid. He let them out the gate: “Grip! Fang! Wolf! Come on, lads!”

He came forward through the gate, to see that they had cornered three hobbits--well, at least it wasn’t that queer fellow again.“Hallo! Hallo! And who may you be, and what may you be wanting?” he asked.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Maggot!” said Pippin.

The farmer looked at him closely. “Well, if it isn’t Master Pippin--Mr. Peregrin Took, I should say!” he cried, changing from a scowl to a grin.

“It’s a long time since I saw you round here. It’s lucky for you that I know you. I was just going out to set my dogs on any strangers. There are some funny things going on today…”

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The time dragged slower and slower. Every tick of the clock seemed to take an eternity. The two who waited had finally given up and taken an early tea, more for something to do than out of any hunger. They did not feel like talking much, either, and when they did it mostly seemed to consist of “What do you think could be holding them up?” And the later it got, the less likely it seemed that it could be anything good delaying them.

Suddenly Merry threw down his napkin and stood up. “I cannot stand this waiting any longer! I am going to saddle up one of the ponies and go to see if I can find them!”

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